


stepping backward for another glance

by freezerjerky



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: Sitting in a chair next to the bed is Hermann fucking Gottlieb.He looks older than Newt remembers, but he’s still wearing a frumpy outfit and looks incredibly cross. There’s a fondness to his expression that Newt neither deserves nor wants, but Newt can’t place why it’s there. Hermann hates him and Newt hates Hermann back with an equivalent passion.“What’re you doing here?” Newt asks bitterly.Making sure you’re not seriously hurt,” Hermann answers and this cannot be right, because he reaches for Newt’s hand like he has any right at all to touch him.or Newt doesn't remember.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah1281](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/gifts).



> A wonderful little something for Sarah, who asked me to write her some amnesia fic.
> 
> As with all good amnesia fic, I'm operating by fake pseudo science romantic movie concepts of amnesia- with some regard to the reality of retrograde amnesia. In short, expect tropey goodness, not actual science.
> 
> Title is from a poem, "Stepping Backward" by Adrienne Rich

Newt’s head is throbbing with pain. It doesn’t help that the lights are far, far too bright for someone with a head that feels like this. Or maybe they’re not bright at all and his head just hurts so damn bad that any level of light feels like torture. That seems profoundly more likely. It takes a few moments for Newt to process that he’s in a bed, likely some sort of infirmary bed.

When he takes in the room, it’s unfamiliar to him completely, all stark metal and things written in foreign languages. Goddamn, is he in China? That’s going to be a tough one to explain to his dad, how he ended up probably concussed in the middle of China. It’s because of the bright light and being in China that he doesn’t recognize immediately that he’s not alone in his room. It’s like his vision is fuzzy for a few moments before he fully processes the other person, before he acknowledges that he knows them.

Sitting in a chair next to the bed is Hermann fucking Gottlieb. 

He looks older than Newt remembers, but he’s still wearing a frumpy outfit and looks incredibly cross. There’s a fondness to his expression that Newt neither deserves nor wants, but Newt can’t place why it’s there. Hermann hates him and Newt hates Hermann back with an equivalent passion.

“What’re you doing here?” Newt asks bitterly.

“Making sure you’re not seriously hurt,” Hermann answers and this cannot be right, because he reaches for Newt’s hand like he has any right at all to touch him.

Newt recoils immediately like a child who’s touched a burning stove.

“Where am I?” Newt continues, looking at the room for further clues.

“The infirmary,” Hermann explains. “You fell on some entrails in the lab and hit your head rather badly. You were bleeding.”

“Entrails,” Newt repeats the word.

“Yes, entrails. I believe this time it was part of a kaiju stomach and naturally you were careless with your samples and we had been fighting about the lab yet again, because you refuse to keep your things on your side of the lab and-”

“Again? What do you mean again? We’ve only fought like...once, and then swore not to talk to each other ever again.”

Hermann levels Newt a look that he doesn’t fully understand.

“Newton, we are consistently at each other’s throat.”

“We’re not consistently anything,” Newt declares. He hasn’t seen Hermann in nearly a year since they met, fought a good deal, and agreed to stop trying to like each other. It broke his heart to admit that Hermann was not the type of person he thought he was, but he’s coped since. Moved on. Destroyed a handful of letters and deleted a whole folder of emails. It felt profoundly empowering. If he still keeps a few letters stuffed under his mattress, no one needs to know truly and it made no difference.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hermann reaches for him again, but then pulls back. “You’re not making much sense right now, darling.”

“Darling?” Newt almost launches himself out of the bed in shock. His letters had been flirty at times, no doubt, but never that outright. And Hermann certainly could not have gotten the impression that was acceptable language to use during their ill fated meeting.

“I think,” Hermann says coolly. “I think we need to bring a doctor in here.”

 

Retrograde amnesia. Newt’s not exactly a medical professional (close enough) but he understands well enough what that means. He’s hit his head and now about five years of his life are completely missing. Five pretty impressive years, if anything he’s being told is true. He makes up just about the entirety of the current K-Science biology department and he’s doing some really earth shattering, rock star status worthy work. Sure, no one else believes he’s a rock star for his work, but he thinks he must be pretty cool.

Several people who he’s sure are important come into the room and look very concerned. Not about Newt himself, of course not, but about his work. He stares at them with his arms crossed until Hermann speaks up.

“Newton frequently records his processes, so there is likely to be audio,” Hermann explains. “Likewise, there are copies of his notes in our room that may prove beneficial. There’s no reason, unless he objects, he cannot retain his job at least on a trial basis. I am happy to assist with anything he lacks in.”

“You are not a biologist, Doctor Gottlieb,” the most imposing man, Pentecost, says.

“I have been living with a biologist and working with a biologist for some time, I can assure you I am more than capable of assisting as needed.”

“You are emotionally compromised by this situation enough as it is.”

“I understand, Marshall. But Newton’s work is very important to him and-”

“Hey, bud,” Newt cuts in. “I can speak for himself, thanks. But he’s right, whatever work I’m doing, I want to keep doing that. I’m sure the doctor would agree that it’s good for my memory to go back to normal and it sounds like you don’t have a lot of options.”

The Marshall blinks at him like he’s insignificant and then turns to Hermann.

“You must supervise him in the lab at all times and if he proves incompetent in any manner, he’s to leave his post, understood?”

“Of course,” Hermann responds.

“I don’t need a minder, I’ve lost my memories not my damn mind,” Newt exclaims.

Everyone in the room shoots him an impassive look and the important men shuffle out, leaving him alone once again with only Hermann. He’s really not sure what the deal is there, but he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to ask because he doesn’t think Hermann hates him half as much as he hates Hermann. He feels a strong urge to tell him how much he wishes he were anywhere else, but that won’t serve him any good purpose.

“So what’s your deal?” Newt asks, settling back comfortably on the bed. The doctor refuses to let him go for a few more days.

“My deal?” Hermann repeats. “You will have to be more clear than that.”

“Why you’re here. Do we like...work together now?”

“Yes,” Hermann answers tersely. “We share a lab.”

“Do we get along?”

Despite the tenseness of his last statement, Hermann’s face cracks into a smile then.

“Sometimes we get along very well, but we still fight rather often.”

“Are we friends?” Newt asks skeptically.

“Erm, I suppose we are friends. I have no expectation of our relationship resuming what it was before. Assuming you do not remember.”

“Good,” he answers, rather too satisfied at not having to associate with Hermann more than necessary.

Then he sees the way Hermann looks away, like he’s trying to keep from crying. Newt doesn’t know Hermann well or not as well as he thought, but he suspects that he doesn’t cry much or easily. Perhaps his answer was a bit too harsh, even if it was honest.

“If you’ll excuse me, Newton, I have to return to the lab.”

Hermann rises abruptly and exits the room. Newt wants to make a joke about him leaving to cry, but that seems low even for him. He has the rest of his life to get a rise out of Hermann, to hate him and tease him, regardless of what he does and doesn’t remember.

 

There are people speaking directly outside of Newt’s room in hushed tones. They probably think it’s mostly safe to speak like this because he’s been pretending to sleep, but he really can’t rest all that well.

One of the people he recognizes as the doctor who had come in and diagnosed him. She’s returned a handful of times to poke and prod him and ask him questions about his memory and once to walk him down to a room where he was made to undergo a series of tests and scans. None of these seemed like the proper medical procedures, but he supposes someone in the PPDC has some sort of idea about the proper protocol for this sort of thing.

The other is Hermann, who can’t seem to keep his nose out of Newt’s business.

“There’s a strong chance he will regain some, if not all, of his memories,” the doctor explains. “But we can’t predict the likelihood of it occurring.”

“I think if I can create a model to accurately calculate when kaiju are going to enter our world through a breach you can-”

“I cannot, the human brain doesn’t function like that.”

“I need to know.” Hermann’s voice cracks, noticeably enough that Newt can hear. Why is his voice cracking? Is he that worried about the damn work?

“Doctor Gottlieb, I understand this must be particularly difficult for you given the circumstances but we can’t do anything but hope.”

“Particularly difficult? He hates me, I think. And with good reason. I don’t know how I’m even going to begin to tell him that-”

“You have to tell him if you want him to remember, unfortunately.”

“He won’t even believe it.”

Newt might not have all of his memories and he might not be the best at interpersonal relationships, but he’s able to put the pieces together. Hermann is in love with him. Well, to be more accurate, it was mutual. They were together. He suddenly feels sick to his stomach, something like shame mixed with guilt surging through him. How could he love such a stuck-up bastard? How  _ long _ has he loved such a stuck up bastard?

He flushes hot at the memory of the fact that he once had cherished tender feelings for Hermann before they met, so he supposes it’s not entirely impossible. He’s buried those feelings, though, in some deep and remote part of him. And he’ll never explore them again.

A few moments later, Hermann himself appears in the doorway, resting both of his hands on his cane.

“The doctor is releasing you back to your rooms,” Hermann explains. “But there is something you need to know before you go back, lest it be a shock to you.”

It might be easier to just tell Hermann he’s figured it out, but some part of Newt wants to see him squirm a bit. 

“Yes?” Newt asks, feigning curiosity.

“We are not friends, Newton. Or we are not only friends. Rather, we were partners. Romantically. I know you may find this hard to believe given your current low opinion of me but you can ask anyone here in the Shatterdome and they will tell you the same information.”

“I had suspected.” Newt grimaces, because a half lie is better than a full lie. “Though I don’t see how that’s possible, given that you’re...you. And I’m me.” He doesn’t even mean to say this harshly, though he knows his tone has an edge to it.

“We became involved shortly after we both started working together here. Physically, that is.” Hermann clears his throat and a blush rises to his cheeks. Damn that weird looking bastard for still being rather cute. “And then shortly after that emotionally- romantically as well. I have no expectations or aspirations of resuming our relationship if you do not regain your memories of it. I understand the feelings of dislike you harbor for me are still fresh.”

“Astute observation, dude.”

“The issue at hand that we cannot resolve immediately is that you and I...cohabitate.”

“Like we share a room?” Newt asks. He’s not sure how life on a Shatterdome works, but given its similarities to a military base, he wouldn’t be surprised that he shares a room. It probably worked out well when they were involved, but he’s sure they can adapt. 

“Yes. Purposely. We applied for shared housing about a year prior and while the PPDC was insistent only married couples could live together, you accused them of blatant homophobia and they made an exception.”

“That sounds like me.” Newt smiles despite himself. Hermann isn’t as prickly as he remembers, even if he is still uptight.

“The PPDC doesn’t want to arrange alternative housing for you until they’re certain that you’re not going to regain your memories, and I’ve tried to explain to them that it may be uncomfortable for you to share a bed with a relative stranger but they will not budge.”

“So I have to share a room with you.”

“Given how busy we are, we hardly use it for anything but sleeping at this point in time.”

“Are there two beds?”

“We share a bed, but I can likely arrange to have it replaced in a day or two. I can make sure the bed is adequately divided until then.”

He watches Hermann swallow hard, likely swallowing down something he feels deeply. Newt could almost bring himself to pity this man, but he has his doubts that deep feelings for Hermann are that deep at all, given how cruelly he’s treated Newt. Surely there’s more to the story of their relationship than them falling in love, maybe it’s a matter of convenience, or Newt’s become increasingly desperate over the years. That one seems rather realistic.

“If it’s just for a night or two, I don’t think it could hurt anything,” Newt answers. “I suppose you probably snore and keep me up half the night?”

“I do not, thank you.”

Hermann turns and exits the room. Newt can’t say he’s saddened by him leaving.

 

The curse, Newt supposes, is that even with everything he’s forgotten he still acutely remembers his disastrous first meeting with Hermann. If he had forgotten that as well as the past five years, he’d probably think he was living his fantasy life. He’d get to be in love with someone he thought was his dream man, someone he’d actually want to spend his life with.

Hermann had said that Newt was immature and disrespectful for arguing with him during his presentation. Alright, maybe he was being that a bit, but honestly it was to show off. To make Hermann like him. Which he supposes was also immature. His dad had given him a very firm lecture on the fact that he should not tease girls he had crushes on, so maybe something about that didn’t translate in his brain to refer to boys as well.

He might have been able to recover the relationship if he hadn’t shouted and called Hermann an uptight bastard in the middle of a crowded conference hall. And then Hermann followed up with his own litany of insults- insufferable, annoying, an imposition, useless. He called him unprofessional and insulted the way he dressed and talked and really Newt can’t remember the things he himself said, but he can remember Hermann’s snide answers better than anything else. He’d heard worse, but never from someone who had meant so much to him.

Everything they had during their friendship was a sham, the things they shared in the letters were lies if Hermann couldn’t even bother to respect him as a person. He stopped having expectations about Hermann altogether, cut him out because it was the easiest way to cope.

Now, his life is a nightmare, Newt thinks, standing in the doorway of what he’s told is his room. It’s small, there’s only one singular desk and a very small loveseat besides the bed. The loveseat looks like it’s likely something he’s dragged from the dumpster, or Hermann’s taste in decor is just naturally that atrocious. Either possibility seems likely. It’s not a cozy space by any means, but there is something domestic to it, with a throw blanket tossed across the otherwise dull plaid bedding and books lining the one small shelf that sits against a wall. There’s a few pictures taped to the walls, mostly of their respective families, and posters from some of Newt’s favorite bands.

“We have an ensuite bathroom,” Hermann explains, stepping into said bathroom and switching on the light. “Your toothbrush is the blue one. I think any other products you can figure out which is yours without too much issue.”

“The ones that do not smell like mothballs and repression,” Newt mutters to himself.

Hermann re-emerges and judging by the expression on his face, he’s heard what Newt has said but is choosing to ignore it. There’s a dresser pushed against the far wall and Hermann points to it with his cane.

“Your clothes are on the left hand side,” Hermann explains. “Likewise, you sleep on the left side of the bed. I ask that you do not look through my drawers or my nightstand but otherwise this room should remain as shared as it has always been.”

“Have we always had these rules?” Newt asks, genuinely curious. He drops on the bed, draping himself across it for a few moments before he sits back up to kick off his shoes.

“While it is of great importance to me that you regain your memories, I have as much right as anyone to keep my privacy.”

“So that’s a no.” 

Newt’s already thrown his boots halfway across the floor, earning a glare from Hermann. Of course the dude’s a neat freak. He probably folds his clothes before putting them in the hamper at night. Gently nudging the shoes aside with his cane, Hermann steps towards the desk, settling himself down comfortably. Something about the gesture softens something in Newt, just by a margin.

“Do I have a computer or something?” Newt looks around the room. Even without knowing this version of Hermann it’s easy to tell which personal touches in the room are the result of which resident. 

“You have a tablet on your nightstand,” Hermann answers, affixing his dorky reading glasses to his face. “The password is kaijuRcool. The R is capital.”

“That cannot possibly be what my password is.”

“It wasn’t.” Hermann pointedly won’t look at him. “I took the liberty of changing it.”

“What was it before? Kaijulover69?”

“HermannsCuteButt,” Hermann answers drily and for a moment Newt thinks he’s kidding but there’s a slight blush on his cheeks.

“That’s not a very secure password.”

Newt reaches for his tablet and switches it on, trying the password Hermann gave him. It works, thankfully. He’s able to check in on his emails, which look very confusing, and half a decade of pop culture, which is even more confusing. He’s lying on his back with the tablet held up in the air, which is probably not the most comfortable thing, but he manages.

When curiosity gets the best of him, he tries to snoop through his own device, to see if there’s anything personal he can discover about himself. There’s a photo saved as background.png which Newt expects used to be the background of the tablet. It’s a picture of Hermann, half asleep and bleary eyed. Almost involuntarily, something in his chest clenches painfully and he turns off the tablet.

Yeah, alright. He should be actively trying to remember things, but it’s really hard to want to remember being in love with someone who’s a complete jerk. Not that Hermann has done anything particularly jerkish yet, but Newt’s sure it’s lurking beneath the surface. He’s probably a terrible boyfriend and he even admitted himself they still fight rather often, so Newt can’t imagine they have a particularly sound relationship moving to someplace good. Their relationship is probably a complete and utter disaster.

“If you’re hungry,” Hermann says at length, lifting his glasses off of his face, “we can go to the mess hall and have something to eat. Or I can show you where it is and leave you.”

He really does hate the fact that this whole experience means he’s more or less joined at the hip with Hermann. It’s not just a sense of obligation or the importance that Hermann apparently plays in his life. Newt is a stranger in a strange land and Hermann is the only familiar face around.

“Do we normally eat together?” 

“We do, so I suppose it’s for the best if we do what we’d usually do and continue to eat together.”

“As long as we don’t have to talk.”

“Whatever you wish, Newton.”

Not for the first time, Newt wishes he didn’t always open his mouth without thinking. He’ll never change this about himself, memories or no memories.

 

The whole experience with the mess hall is truly a disaster. They go when at least half the ‘dome is eating and everyone turns to face them as they walk in. Newt suspects that normally they can slip in undetected, given that the two of them together are about half the size of the average Jaeger pilot. However, this isn’t the case when the large room feels oddly silent. He can hear Hermann huff next to him and stride ahead to choose his food. Of course Hermann is no nonsense about this. It’s likely he doesn’t feel any one emotion enough to be embarrassed by this sort of situation and it runs off of him impassively.

He stacks his tray high with everything that looks appealing and follows Hermann to a mostly empty table. There’s another man sitting there, clearly in the middle of an interesting text exchange, but he looks up at them with a smile and holds out his hand.

“Tendo Choi, LOCCENT Officer. I’m on loan from the Anchorage ‘dome,” he explains as he happily shakes Newt’s hand.

“Newt,” Newt responds feebly. He has a speech he does, but he suspects Tendo already knows Newt rather well. “I’m not really sure what most of the things you said are, but I think I’m getting a crash course tomorrow.”

Before he left the infirmary, the doctor and Hermann had reviewed a plan to get Newt up to speed on the background details of his current life. Then he’d be stuck in a lab listening to recordings of himself experimenting rather than doing something cool like digging around in kaiju guts. Apparently he does a lot of that now.

“We’re friends,” Tendo continues. “That’s what matters.”

Newt furrows a brow for a moment, it’s sort of like there’s something on the tip of his tongue. A memory that’s just out of reach. He can’t bring up the memory itself, but he can recall sensations of warmth, support, someone he can rely on. It’s a comfort to know he has someone in this place besides Hermann to go to and he’ll have to use this friendship as best as he can to keep himself from going crazy.

“Do you normally eat dinner with us?” 

“Sometimes,” Tendo answers honestly and he looks to Hermann before he speaks, as though seeking permission. “I have a lot of other friends around and you two normally stick to each other.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Newt says, perhaps a bit flirtatiously. Okay, definitely flirtatiously. Tendo is cute as hell, after all.

“That I have other friends or that you two spend all of your time together?”

Newt turns to look at Hermann who pointedly won't look back over at him. “Spending all our time together and you not spending all of your time with us.”

He's only halfway through his meal when Hermann dismisses himself from the table. Tendo promises to walk Newt back to the room if he needs assistance. He manages well enough on his own, though he fumbles with the right way to open the door. Before he can figure it out, Hermann answers it and gestures for Newt to step inside.

There's a tray table sitting on the bed with an honest to God game of solitaire spread out on it. If the person doing this wasn't such a grandpa already, Newt would find something endearing in this. The blankets are pulled back on the bed, the duvet on Newt's side and the throw on Hermann's and there's a line of pillows down the middle.

“You can't sleep with just that, you'll get cold,” Newt says, and he surprises himself with this knowledge. He has a vague vision, though, of Hermann in a very large coat.

“I'll be fine, Newton.” Hermann settles back into the bed and once again pulls on his dorky glasses. “You move more in the night so you should have a larger blanket.”

He notes that Hermann doesn't acknowledge that his body temperature regulation issues are not something that Newt would know without memories or context. Maybe for a moment, Hermann forgot things weren't incredibly weird. Or maybe he's just that intent on his game of solitaire.

“So do you keep like grandpa hours?” Newt asks, kicking off his shoes. This time he places them by the door where there's a small rack for shoes. Something about his worn out chucks next to a pair of Oxfords feels oddly tender.

“I don’t know what you mean by grandpa hours, but I like to think I function at typical hours for a man of my age.”

Each time Hermann flips a card it makes a distracting  _ thwack _ against the tray, a rhythm to their dysfunctional evening.

“And what are those?”

“I eat dinner around six, have leisure time until nine or later, and then turn in for the evening no later than ten when I can help it.”

“That’s exactly what I mean when I say grandpa hours, Hermann. You’ll probably play solitaire for a while longer and then make yourself some tea and read a very boring book.”

Newt knows this is true in some awful way. He’s not sure if Hermann shared it in a letter once, he remembers, or it’s just an obvious guess.

“Apologies for not being more interesting to entertain you,” Hermann says, but he doesn’t look other at Newt. “Normally on Tuesday evenings I go into the city proper for dinner, but I had to adjust my plans.”

“Don’t let me stop you from enjoying your life.” Newt picks up his tablet and starts scrolling through it.

“I don’t normally go alone,” Hermann murmurs and then seems to drop the subject completely.

The idea that anyone can create a domestic life here in the Shatterdome, all cold metal and concrete, seems preposterous. The fact that he’s somehow managed to build one with Hermann, of all people, seems impossible. For not the first time, Newt wonders if someone’s going to jump out and tell him this is all some elaborate prank set up to torture him. It’s certainly working.

 

By noon the next day, Newt’s been listening to recordings of himself for more than two hours and for the first time in his life he truly understands why some people may find his voice abrasive. Oh, he understands the high pitched thing, and even that he’s rather squeaky, for lack of a better word. But he also just drips with the tone of being a know it all when he talks, like he’s so certain his ideas and theories are the best thing in the world. The pitchy and scratchy nature of his voice he actually finds endearing, even if it’s egotistical to say so.

The earliest recordings are very clearly an attempt to sound both cool and professional and he sticks to speaking about what he’s working on but also trying to talk like the most interesting version of himself. A few times he snorts at just how absurd he sounds, earning a look from Hermann as he scratches away at his oversized chalkboard. He thinks Hermann is smiling at him, but he can’t really read his expression from this distance.

“Did you sit here and listen to me recording these sometimes?” Newt asks Hermann as he tugs out his headphones. According to his hour long crash course that morning, Newt and Hermann started working in Hong Kong at the same time. “Because I’d have slapped me if I had to listen to that.”

“Usually you did these very quietly, or in the lab after hours. You can tell from some of the snide comments you make that you would occasionally pointedly do them with me in the room. At least early on.”

“Have you listened to these?”

“Some,” Hermann answers and he steps, or rather hops, down the final two rungs of the ladder. “When you needed a second opinion on something, I’d listen. Do you want anything from the mess hall?”

“Just grab me whatever, you probably know what I like to eat now more than I do.”

They eat at their respective desks in relative silence. Hermann’s brought him back a sandwich and an energy drink and he’s mostly surprised that Hermann would indulge this desire in him, but he doesn’t question it. Newt reviews some of his written notes while he eats, careful not to smudge the paper. He’s grateful for the neatness of his handwriting but has to scowl in places where Hermann’s sprawled his own notes over Newt’s- correcting him or chiding him. Hermann still writes in cursive when he can because of course he does. Absentmindedly, Newt flips through the notes, lands on something that is definitely not a work not and feels himself blush. It’s not dirty by any means, but by the care which Hermann took to write in his notes it feels like an intimate look into someone else’s relationship.

But it’s his relationship, isn’t it? This is the person he was going to share his life with and he can’t stand him now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was with Hermann. If he remembers, he could be with Hermann again. So he has a right to read all the same, but he can’t bring himself to do so yet. Still, he uses whatever remaining respect he has for Hermann to look past the love letter. If a time ever comes when he feels he has a right to see it again, he’ll look.

After lunch, he resumes listening, an ordeal that’s likely to take him many hours more. He doesn’t record often, but he does record all of his most important experiments and he’s surprisingly good at remembering to keep notes that go along with each individual experiment. Halfway through the afternoon he glances over at Hermann as he descends the ladder. At the bottom, he rubs his leg for a few moments before making his way to his desk. At least Hermann clearly cares a good deal about his work. Newt supposes that, as far as lab partners go, he could be stuck with far worse.

Around six, Hermann approaches him, tapping his chair gently with the cane. He looks up, startled, having gotten sucked into an experiment involving a highly explosive kidney and a necessary shower. He spends half of the time on the tape cursing Hermann out for not believing him about the theory he’s come up with and the other half sounding almost apologetic as something acidic eats through his favorite Ramones t-shirt. There’s a softness to the apologetic parts, and then apparently Hermann had entered the room because he starts shouting.

“It’s time to eat dinner. At least for me,” Hermann states.

Newt wants to protest and insist that he maintains his healthy distance, his own space, but the telltale gurgle of his stomach betrays him and he follows Hermann to the mess hall yet again. They sit at a table with Tendo again, but there are others there to take some of his attention and that leaves them both sitting rather awkwardly side by side. Hermann doesn’t seem to mind the silence and Newt wonders if this is typical for them, probably after being in the lab all day they run out of things to say anyway. Newt chooses to cut in whenever he can in Tendo’s conversation, re-introducing himself to some of the others at the table. If his tone continues to be a bit flirty with these relative strangers, he doesn’t really notice it.

For the second night in a row, Hermann slips out before dinner’s done. He doesn’t even say a proper goodbye this time, he trusts that Newt knows how to get back to their room after he’s done. Tendo invites him outside for a smoke and he follows him to a loading bay. Newt realizes it’s the first he’s been outside since his injury and he should try to get into the city soon.

“How’ve things been, brother?” Tendo asks, handing a lit cigarette over to Newt. Newt’s not entirely sure he smokes, but Tendo seems confident in this, so he takes it, only coughing minimally when he inhales too much.

“A bit fucked up. I’m shoved in the lab listening to recordings of myself in hopes that I can retain that information to keep working just in case I don’t remember.”

He notices when he gets a glance at Tendo’s forearm that there’s a nicotine patch just above his wrist. Seems right that those things are absolutely useless.

“How’re things with the  _ partner _ ?” The word carries both connotations that apply.

“I don’t know if you know what the deal is with that, but I sorta only remember hating him. Profusely.”

“That’s more or less the vibe I got, both from you and what he’s told me.”

“And it’s not even remembering hating him I- I’m listening to these recordings and I spend half of my time trying to one up him or shout at him and I just can’t see how I could have fallen in love with him with all of that happening.”

Tendo takes a long drag of his cigarette, like he’s deliberating something. “My girlfriend and I never fight, you know. We’re one of those couples, which is fantastic. Love her all the more for it. But I’m trying to imagine a firecracker like you being happy with that and it seems odd. I’m not saying you guys have an unhealthy or mean thing going on- if anything the fighting gets less and less severe and more pointedly work based as you get more serious but-”

“But what?”

“I don’t know if there’s something you’re missing out on knowing about yourself, but I think you can see as easily as anyone else that he’s exactly the type of person it makes sense for you to fall in love with.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be him anymore.” Newt flings his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his boot. It’s a waste, he knows, but he doesn’t have the patience for it at the moment.

“No, it doesn’t. And I don’t think he’s trying to force you to be with him, correct?”

“Unless he has some diabolical plot, no.” Hermann’s not done more than give him looks that may be sad but may also just be thoughtful.

“Cut him some slack, Newt,” Tendo says. “Stop flirting with J-Tech Officers and me at the dinner table in front of him, try to be a bit nicer. I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid and we’re all here for your healing but-”

“But what? I’m free to do what I want to do with my life. If I want to go and flirt with whoever-” He feels his anger rising.

“He loves you and he’s used to you loving him. When he looks at you, he sees the love of his life and don’t roll your eyes at that. You don’t know how he is with you. You’re just making assumptions based on a misunderstanding.”

“So I just can’t do what I want because he loves me?” Newt snaps.

Tendo takes a deep breath and taps out the ashes of his cigarette. He takes another drag, this one longer than any of the others before, and exhales rather dramatically before he responds.

“I’m saying that if you do something idiotic that hurts him and then you get your memories back, it better be something you can live with.”

Newt stares down at his boots. He’s not sure if they’re the same exact pair he was wearing five years ago, but they have a scuff in the same spot and the same obnoxious shoe laces he insisted on buying. Tendo is right, he’s living his life as though he was the person he was five years ago, with no regards to actually caring about who he is now. Who he was before the accident. He doesn’t have to love Hermann and he doesn’t have to respect Hermann, but he does have to give some level of respect to the relationship they shared which, admittedly, sounds like the healthiest relationship of his adult life.

“Did I love him very much?” Newt’s voice is small as he asks this question.

“Brother, I’m not an expert on how you show your love to someone. I know you were always excited to be around him, or to show him what you discovered, even if you fought. The reason you usually eat alone with him is because the two of you fill a room on your own. I don’t think either you or I subscribe to that soulmate completing you bullshit, but that’s sort of how it felt when you two were together.”

“I just can’t imagine him- the reality of him as a romantic creature, as a-” Newt pauses and blushes at the thought that’s brought to the front of his mind. Hermann’s presumably had sex with him. Multiple times. “As a sexual creature. I guess when we were writing that made sense, but now he’s just this stuffy dude who dresses like a reference librarian from a century ago.”

“Reference librarians have sex too, Newt.”

Tendo takes the last drag of his cigarette and tosses it to the ground, snuffing it out next to Newt’s.

 

Rather than go back to his rooms, Newt stays outside a while longer, even after Tendo slips back into the Shatterdome. Newt promises that he’ll not stay out too late and catch his death, but he needs the fresh air. He needs to be away from people who expect him to be anything at all, because he just wants to be himself for a few moments. Whatever that may mean in this context.

He spends some time reacquainting himself with the ‘dome and only gets kicked out of two of the many restricted areas he finds himself in. Most people look at him like a familiar nuisance, even though he’s sure everyone knows by now that he’s carrying around far less memories. Maybe sticking his nose into everything is something that’s inherently true of him. 

When he returns, it’s nearly time for Hermann to turn in. Tonight, he remembers how to open the door properly. Hermann must be distracted because he doesn’t notice Newt step in. He pauses in the doorway, watching Hermann where he sits on the edge of the bed, holding something in his hand. Upon noticing that Newt’s arrived he quickly shoves the item into his nightstand and wipes at his eyes. This is the second time Hermann’s cried or almost cried in front of him and that seems impossible to believe.

“I’m going to bed,” Hermann says, slipping properly into the bed. Newt notices that he’s wearing an old tshirt to bed tonight. It’s Newt’s shirt. Or it was once, half a decade ago. “You can keep the light on, but do turn it off when you’re ready to sleep as well.”

Newt nods his assent and moves past the bedroom to the bathroom. What he needs more than anything is a good long shower, that’ll put his life back in focus.

The water is too hot, but Newt’s always liked that a bit. Moderation was never really his forte in anything. He deliberates between the two bottles of shampoo on the shelf, his own and Hermann’s, unsure why he’s feeling this urge to use Hermann’s instead of his own. He ends up using Hermann’s, which smells like patchouli. It’s only after he uses Hermann’s shampoo that he realizes how familiar the smell is, not just because of the proximity of Hermann, but on himself. He’s been using Hermann’s shampoo all this time anyway.

When the shower’s done he spends a few long minutes standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself with his towel slung around his waist. At first, he didn’t really consider any changes to his body, but how that he’s come to terms with having seemingly lost years, having a body that’s five years older than he remembers seems very odd. He has a few new scars, mostly nicks on his hands likely from being careless with a scalpel. His hair is, thankfully, still rather full and probably his best feature. The lenses of his glasses are definitely thicker, meaning his vision is worse. These are all small things.

He’s gained weight. Not a substantial amount, but it’s clear his body’s made the full shift from being a young adult to a thirtysomething. He was never particularly lean and he’s far from large now, it’s just jarring to feel a body that’s shifted. His body is solid, firm, with a hint of softness in his stomach. More than this, though, is the change in the tattoos. He’d very recently begun a sleeve at the time he last remembers, but now he’s invested much more time and money in his ink, covering the entirety of his torso as well as his arms in kaiju. This is objectively jarring, even if he thinks it’s totally cool. He sort of wants to see if he can meet up with the tattoo artist and get more done.

A thrill goes through him at realizing there’s a variety of kaiju he knows nothing about now, that he’s going to have the chance to learn about all over again. But no, he realizes, frowning at himself in the mirror. That’s not right. He wants to remember, he wants to do what he can to help the efforts to save the world. Even if he can listen to the audio of himself, it’s not the same as if he slid seamlessly back into his life. He’s determined to remember.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translations for the first scene are as follows:
> 
> Das weiß ich, Papa Er ist trotzdem mein Liebhaber: I know, Father, but he is still my lover
> 
> Ich werde nicht mein Sachen packen und gehen. Ich mache diese Arbeit nicht weil ich ihn liebe, sondern weil es richtig ist. Deine Mauer ist eine sinnlose Idee: I will not pack up and leave. I don't do this work because I love him, I do this work because it si the right thing to do. Your wall is a foolish idea.
> 
> Translations done by [momotastic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/momotastic)

Hermann’s talking on the phone. Newt can hear him through his headphones, primarily because Hermann speaks louder in his native German. Or maybe it’s who he’s speaking to that’s the concern here. 

“Das wei ß ich , Papa,” Hermann says, “Er ist trotzdem mein Liebhaber.”

That’s factually untrue, but if Hermann’s speaking to who Newt assumes he is, he can understand the need for simplistic language.

“Ich werde nicht mein Sachen packen und gehen. Ich mache diese Arbeit nicht weil ich ihn liebe, sondern weil es richtig ist. Deine Mauer ist eine sinnlose Idee.”

There’s a long pause and Newt is certain that Hermann is getting an earful from his father. He wonders if he’s ever been given the pleasure of meeting Lars in these past few years. Hopefully he’s decked him across the face.

“Auf Wiedersehen, Papa,” Hermann concludes, hanging up the phone with a huff.

Newt debates pretending he didn’t hear any of the conversation, letting Hermann have his tense moment with his father and move on. It took a long time for Hermann to disclose anything about his relationship with Lars in his letters but it became clear that so much of his stress came from the pressure put on him by his father. He wrenches out his headphones and stands, making his way to Hermann’s desk where he sits with his head in his hands.

“Not to be forward,” Newt begins, “but is your dad still a complete bastard?”

Shifting towards him, Hermann’s face almost breaks a smile, but it doesn’t quite arrive.

“We haven’t told you about the wall, have we?” Something in Newt is profoundly disappointed when the almost smile twists decidedly into a frown. “My father thinks building large coastal walls will prevent the kaijus from breaking through and destroying lives.”

“That’s some bullshit,” Newt answers. Sure, he’s about half a decade behind on news, but it doesn’t take a xenobiologist to understand that kaiju are stronger than any materials that exist to build walls. It just so happens that Newt is a xenobiologist so he understands fully well. “I’m assuming they’re already building the walls?”

“Yes.” Hermann gingerly folds his hands in his lap. “And the more money that is put towards the wall, the less money goes towards funding the PPDC. We will likely not last another two years, which is why it’s very important to have the world’s best minds working for the PPDC.”

Despite himself, Newt’s face shifts into a lopsided grin. “So your dad calls trying to get you to come to the dark side?”

“He believes I’ve been seduced into believing the PPDC is correct and the wall is wrong, despite all of the articles I’ve sent him that prove to the contrary. It may be the name referenced in many of those articles that makes him believe I’m being duped. That was the first we’d spoken in a long while.”

“You mean he believes you’ve been seduced literally,” Newt states. “Like I’m some kind of...homme fatale.”

“Apparently word’s gotten to him that you don’t remember our relationship and he sees this as a time to try to convince me to see his side of the issue.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to think of myself all mysterious, with a troubled past.” Newt snorts.

“It’s not without its humor, yes.” Hermann lifts his cane from where it rests against his desk and stands. “I believe it’s time for dinner.”

“I was actually hoping we could go into the city to get something to eat?” Newt suggests. “Nothing at the Shatterdome has triggered any memories, but I thought if I got out and into the real world, something would come back.”

“I will need to change my clothes first.”

Newt feels an odd sense of relief in the fact that Hermann does not always dress like this. It seems uncomfortable, repressed, old fashioned. He’s not sure why it really matters that Hermann is not actually any of these three things.

“That’s fine,” Newt answers. “I can wait here, or go back with you to the room while you change. Whichever.”

“I’ll come fetch you here.”

“Oh, you’ll fetch me,” Newt teases, folding his arms. “Do you always have to use the most old fashioned words?”

“Yes,” Hermann answers and he leans in, as if to press a kiss to Newt’s cheek before he pulls away completely, looking stricken. “Apologies, Newton. I won’t-”

“It’s fine.” Newt holds up a hand. “Old habits die hard.”

And that’s exactly why it wasn’t fine. If Hermann had tried to kiss him as a grand gesture to make him remember, to make him feel something that would be one thing. This was an honest mistake, a man leaning in to kiss his lover on the cheek. Hermann’s body was used to Newt’s body and God knows what other small intimacies he had to refrain from. And he did it all so beautifully, but the almost kiss broke something in Newt. When Hermann leaves the room, he presses his face into his hands and lets out a sob, just for a moment. He’s not really sure why he’s crying, because it’s not like he feels anything more tender than sympathy for Hermann and even that is the barest, but something in the pit of his stomach feels absolutely awful and he cannot shake that feeling.

 

They end up at a restaurant that is popular with expats, which Newt suspects is where they eat a good deal of their meals at first because they themselves are expats, until he realizes that Hermann’s largely chosen this spot because he’s unsure if Newt understands any of the menus if they’re not in English. Oddly, Newt suspects he couldn’t read the language very well before, but he probably managed to recognize the words of the things he wanted to order.

The hostess smiles at them and tells them how strange it is that they’re here on a Thursday, not a Tuesday. Newt is acutely aware of how awkward this situation must be for Hermann to try to explain, so he cuts in.

“We were busy with work on Tuesday,” Newt explains. “But we didn’t want to miss date night this week, so we pushed it back until later in the week.”

“Always good to keep the romance alive.” She smiles at them and leads them to a small table towards the back of a restaurant.

“Do we come here often?” Newt asks, even though it’s an obvious question. The menu has a wide variety of international foods and everything is listed in English.

“We rotate between three different restaurants and try something new every fourth time,” Hermann explains. “It’s to guarantee we usually have something we enjoy but gives us the opportunity to try something new often.”

“Do we do anything else for dates?”

“We don’t really have the time, Newton.” Hermann buries his face in his menu.

A waitress comes to their table and delivers them a bottle of wine. They didn’t order it, but she insists it’s on the house for two of their favorite customers. Hermann looks embarrassed, but Newt notices that he doesn’t send it back when he realizes it’s a red wine.

“I think I need to know why they like us here so much,” Newt says, once they’ve both placed their orders.

“Two months into our relationship you fake proposed to me here in order to get free dessert.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I was absolutely mortified.”

“But you still said yes.”

“I wasn’t going to say no and deal with the additional embarrassment of rejecting someone!”

Newt closes his eyes for a moment, tries to remember. Like when he first saw Tendo, it feels like there’s something on the edge of his memory, a vague vision of an expression. A scolding afterwards, perhaps, but he can’t remember that in acute enough detail to call it memory. It may just be a sense of what Hermann is likely to do after that situation occurs.

“I wouldn’t think that you’re easily daunted by crowds of people judging you,” Newt states. He’s reminded of their fight when they met or how easily Hermann strode into the mess hall the other night.

“Believe it or not, I’m very anxious in crowds, Newton,” Hermann answers rather coolly. He must know where Newt’s mind is headed. It comes back to him in more jagged pieces, when they last spoke of this.

_ “Let’s lay it all out, then,” Hermann had stated, his face flushed red with anger and perhaps something else. _

_ “You didn’t need to insult me in the middle of a conference of our peers.” _

_ “You didn’t need to purposely embarrass me during my presentation of my life’s work.” _

_ He remembers snorting, turning to leave the room before turning back. _

_ “I was looking forward to meeting you, Hermann.” _

_ “I wanted to impress you with my presentation,” Hermann declared, and then something between them broke.  _

_ Hermann had wanted Newt to like him and Newt had done the one thing that could lead him to believe he didn’t. _

“I do believe it,” Newt answers, because regardless the anger is still there. Nothing is going to change that in an instant. He doesn’t know how to tell Hermann that he might be starting to remember things, so he doesn’t. “Do they think we’re married now?”

“Still engaged,” Hermann says, with some level of amusement. “They think I have cold feet and am dragging out the engagement, which could be part of the reason for the free wine.”

“Well that’s rude of you, Hermann. I’m a catch, you know. The type of man anyone would want to be engaged to.”

Regret settles in almost immediately. To the best of Newt’s knowledge, there’s probably only one person in the world who would consider being engaged to him, and he just teased him about it. If Hermann is impacted, though, he hides it well by rolling his eyes.

Their food comes quickly, which is a blessing. Newt doesn't like his entree very much and ends up asking to steal food off of Hermann's plate, which be allows. Judging by how seamlessly he slides his plate closer to Newt, it seems likely this is a frequent occurrence for Hermann. 

Before Newt’s finished eating the combination of his food and Hermann’s food, they’re brought a flourless chocolate cake for dessert. It’s one of Newt’s favorite treats in the world and he could easily eat one by himself, but he notes that they’re given two forks. Of course Hermann indulges in the cliche of sharing a dessert rather than living his best life and having a piece of cake to himself.

It’s even worse than he suspected, however, as Hermann doesn’t even pick up his fork. He sits for the remainder of the dinner nursing his glass of wine, never quite making eye contact with Newt across the table.

“You have to eat some of this,” Newt offers. “It’s delicious.”

“I know it is, we order this same dessert every time. It’s your favorite.”

“Is it your favorite, at least?”

“I don’t care much for desserts, regardless.”

“I have a letter detailing the exquisite joy of a specific lemon tart you had one time at one restaurant that tells me otherwise.”

“That’s different. That was a very high class dessert.” Hermann picks up his fork nonetheless and scoops up some of the cake. He makes a pleased hum as he chews, then places his fork back on the plate. “What did you learn from listening to yourself today?”

“We fight. A lot,” Newt says, then stops to lick the back of his own fork. “Like it’s nonstop, I’m saying rude shit to you and you’re being a bastard right back. Really validating my feelings here.”

Admittedly, it would take a lot of actual effort for him to still actively hate Hermann. He’s not the biggest fan of the guy, maybe, and he does think he’s a little stuck up and tightly wound, but there’s technically nothing wrong with him. So he sticks with moderately disliking him, which makes it easier, really, and makes Newt feel a little bit better about the fact that he’s probably going to break his heart.

“I certainly do not wish to return to those days,” Hermann says, but the wistful look in his eyes says otherwise. Was Newt in love with him for very long? Would Hermann rather they yelled at each other but still loved each other than this awkward and tense stretch of nothing between them?

He watches Hermann for a few moments longer, the way his mouth makes an awkward shape behind his glass of wine as he takes a sip, then places it down on the table again.

“Excuse me, Newton. I think I need a moment of fresh air.”

“We’re almost done with dinner-”

“Just a moment.”

Hermann stands abruptly, grabbing onto his cane before he hurries outside. Newt debates following him, but that doesn’t seem like the polite thing to do. Whatever Hermann’s feeling, he surely wants to feel in private, away from Newt of all people. He doesn’t actively want to hurt Hermann, at least not like this, but he supposes that it really can’t be helped sometimes.

When Hermann doesn’t return ten minutes later, he settles the bill, though, and leaves the restaurant. He stops and asks the hostess if she knows which way Hermann went. She tells him precisely where, giving him a look of worry that he’s not invested in enough to be moved by. Mostly he’s annoyed that these busybodies would care so much about the relationship of two strangers. Or the lack thereof.

“Hey bud,” he greets, spying Hermann immediately outside of the restaurant, pressed against the wall. “You sort of ran off in there and left me with the bill.”

“I’ll pay you back for my half,” Hermann answers.

The dude really isn’t holding up well at all, judging by the redness in his eyes. It’s almost embarrassing to see someone like him cry, like it’s something that shouldn’t be true but it very clearly is. Newt reaches into his jacket pocket, as though he’d have something to offer him to wipe his nose

“I did most of the eating, it’s fine.”

“You must forgive me, Newton. This sort of emotional outburst is not typical of me and I do not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Dude, it’s okay,” Newt says, and oddly enough he feels like it is. “You’re going through something that I can’t even begin to understand. It’s kind of comforting to see you feel emotions, because it reminds me that you’re more than some giant jerk who hates my guts.”

“I’m just...staring at my partner across the dinner table,” Hermann says, his voice low. “And he doesn’t look at me the way I’m used to him looking at me and he doesn’t even understand what I mean when I say that because you don’t- you don’t believe you’re capable of loving me. And you certainly don’t believe I’m capable of loving anyone.”

“Hermann-” He reaches out to squeeze Hermann’s arm but Hermann immediately flinches away.

“You’ll move on,” Hermann snaps. “If you don’t remember, you’ll move on. Find someone else, something else. And I’ll be happy for you, unbearably happy that you found something that makes you feel good, but there’s no one else for me, Newton. I am not saying this to make you feel guilty or to pressure you, it’s the truth.”

“It’s not like I’m sitting here trying not to remember.”

“Maybe, but you’ve made no effort to mask your disdain for me.” Hermann wipes his hand across his lower face, then steps away from the wall. “Let’s go home.”

Newt follows ruefully after him. Tendo’s words from the night before play back in his head. He’s going to regret this immensely if he ever remembers, but he’s not sure what that means for him.

 

The courteous thing to do would be to look away when Hermann steps out of the bathroom. They didn’t exchange a single word beyond what was necessary on the short train ride back to the Shatterdome. Hermann had immediately excused himself to shower and then disappeared in there for a solid 30 minutes. Now Hermann’s in just a deep blue robe and standing in front of their dresser, selecting something to wear for bed.

Newt’s surprised by the fact that, from the sliver of chest he can see, Hermann’s built surprisingly well under his old man sweaters. Objectively, it makes sense. Apparently Hermann goes to a physical therapist several times a week and exercises most every morning. 

“Can we talk about earlier?” Newt asks. He’s already changed into his pajama bottoms patterned with sea turtles and an old grey t-shirt.

Hermann sighs where he’s standing, holding a small bundle of clothing.

“What is there to talk about?” Hermann asks, carefully slipping on the bottoms under his robe. He wonders if this is all habit that’s making it easy for Hermann to change in front of him, or if Hermann’s got that typical healthy respect for the fact that bodies are just bodies within a home.

“Just about everything you’re feeling right now.”

“What I’m feeling right now is tired.” Hermann unties the robe and lets it fall from his shoulders. Newt may or may not look at his chest for a moment too long, only to be distracted by the muscles along his back in the next moment. Well, the sleeping together part of the equation is suddenly making more sense, at least.

“Hermann, I don’t know you very well but I know that being emotionally open is not particularly easy for you.”

“Then you know to leave me alone,” he snaps, pulling the shirt over his head.

“No dude, I’m serious. Maybe you should find someone to talk to about this.”

“Newton, drop the subject. I do not need therapy.”

Hermann switches off the light and moves to the bed, opening the drawer of his nightstand and staring down at it for a moment before he all but slams it shut. He settles comfortably onto his side of the bed, but takes a few pillows from their makeshift divider to support his hip and leg. In the light from Newt’s bedside lamp, Hermann’s face looks softer, younger, but not like Hermann himself looked when he was a few years younger. Something about the past few years has softened him considerably and the full weight of what Hermann said earlier hits Newt.

_ There’s no one else for me.  _ It feels like a memory, but it’s so faint the sensation of  _ hands wandering his chest, nimble and so gentle. They’re shaking, Hermann’s hands are shaking when they’re on him and then _ it’s gone. As easily as it’s come to him. The unbearable sadness settles in again and Newt rolls over onto his side. For the first time, he feels the full weight of what it might be to lose something so important to himself. He’s not sure if he’s more sad for Hermann or himself in that moment and he’s not sure if it really matters.

 

In the morning Newt wakes with Hermann’s arm flung across the pillow, his hand resting square on his chest. His whole body is postured towards Newt’s side of the bed and he realizes that this must be the norm for him. They sleep close most nights, maybe even hold each other to fall asleep. Maybe it’s a residual habit from sharing a smaller bed prior to moving in together.

He debates waking him for a few long moments, but instead he lets him sleep, opting to shower. Without thinking, he reaches for Hermann’s shampoo again and uses his soap as well for good measure. Today his body is less shocking to him, he’s more used to the slight toll that a few years have taken on him. When he’s done, Hermann is awake and staring down at that damned drawer again. It’s slammed shut moments later.

They finish getting ready in companionable silence, both of them eager to get to the lab for the day. Newt is about halfway through listening to his awful recordings and he’s getting tired of hearing his own voice. He misses finding it endearingly charming and wonders if he could skip a few of them just to keep himself from going insane. He doubts this is the case.

This morning is more peaceful, at least, than the day prior. Shortly before lunch, Newt pulls out his headphones and turns to Hermann.

“Hey, dude,” he begins.

“That’s not my title.”

“Excuse me. Hey, Dr. Gottlieb, dude.”

Hermann puts on a long suffering sigh. “Yes?”

“Have I met your awful dad yet?”

“Once, about four years ago,” Hermann states, not looking up from his notes. “He does not think very highly of you.”

“I didn’t hit him or anything, did I?”

“No, you did not.”

“Damn.”

“You would not have a job if you had hit him.” Hermann does glance up then, looking at Newt across the room. “I’ve met yours- Jacob. Not that he’s awful. Once you even made me speak on the phone to your mother but apparently I was rather rude to her and we fought about that.”

“She still only call every year for the holidays?”

“I believe so. You don’t like to talk about her very much, I think because your sense of family loyalty and my distaste at her blatant disregard for you are at odds.”

“Family loyalty doesn’t really sound right.” Newt frowns. He supposes Hermann could have something wrong about him, or many things. In this situation, he can voice assumptions he wouldn’t otherwise. “Loyalty implies she has done anything to earn it. I’d say family...I don’t know. She’s still my mom.”

“And Lars is still my father, though you have expressed the desire to punch him in the face multiple times. I’m generally appreciative of that.”

“I think the offer still stands.”

“I don’t want you to lose your job, Newton. But thank you.”

Hermann turns back to his work then and Newt thinks he’s smiling, but he can’t be sure. He pops one of his headphones back in and flips ahead to his next section of notes. The sooner he can get through all this boring stuff the sooner he can be elbow deep in kaiju guts, which is really what he’s probably best suited for. 

He’s half asleep listening (since when was he boring? It’s worth losing five years if he’s boring) when the audio stops playing. There’s the sound of a very surprised noise, then a pleased noise, then something that he’s certain is a giggle. It’s Hermann, he realizes, kissing him on the recording, and it’s Hermann laughing, likely at interrupting the recording. 

“ _ Oh look at Mr. Professionalism now _ ,” he teases in the recording, but his voice is so soft, so very fond. “ _ I guess I can take a break from this experiment if you want to keep up the kissing… _ ”

Newt has to put everything aside. It feels like he’s just stepped into something very intimate that he has no right to hear. But it’s him, everything on the recording is him, and he sounds so utterly besotted, like the person he’s talking to hung the stars in the sky. He stares down for a few moments before he pushes his chair out.

“I’m going to get some food and maybe some fresh air,” he says, launching himself out of the chair and towards the door. “I’ll be back in about an hour, I swear.”

He thinks Hermann’s said something in agreement, but he can’t be sure because he’s out of the room before he has time to process what he’s doing. First, he does go to the mess hall, grabbing some food to idly pick at. His appetite is not particularly strong, but he knows he’ll be hungry later if he doesn’t eat now. Briefly, he wonders if he should bring something back for Hermann to eat, but Hermann should be more than capable of managing to find food for himself.

When he’s sure that he’s not going to finish the food he’s eaten, he flits around the Mess Hall, asking anyone he sees for a cigarette. There’s clearly a conspiracy afoot, because no one has a cigarette to offer him, or they know he’s probably not supposed to be smoking. He’s forced to step outside for fresh air and actually contend with just how not fresh the air is anywhere near him. It’s uncomfortable and a bit rainy outside, but he stays under the shelter of an overhanging bit of building so he can stay as dry as possible.

The thought of going back to the lab is distasteful to him even then, so he returns to their room for a nap. He kicks off his shoes, this time leaving them in the center of the floor, fully intending to return to the lab before Hermann’s work day would be done. The pillows seem like an imposition, so he puts them aside, laying in the center of the bed. The other side, the forbidden side, smells strongly of Hermann’s shampoo and vaguely of cigarettes. Of course Hermann would be the one to ask for cigarettes all along. He’s probably how Newt’s picked up the atrocious habit.

It’s comforting, though, the smell. Newt understands biology very well and he understands the importance of all the senses, the role that smell plays in sexual relationships. He likes the way Hermann smells, the way Hermann’s things smell. Sense memory has its value and he’s starting to understand a bit of how he must have felt, the experiences that must have come along with the love he feels. Felt.

His eyes alight on the nightstand and he scoots over, pushing himself upright to sit on the edge of the bed. Hermann’s been weirdly secretive about something and sure, it’s really not Newt’s business, but he has to know what the slammed drawer’s about. He looks around the room as though Hermann’s magically going to appear and then slides the drawer open.

There’s nothing spectacular in the drawer that he can see at first. There’s a box of condoms shoved towards the back, and Newt wonders if this means they’ve been having sex rarely or sex without them. The two small vibrators towards the front of the drawer imply to him that it’s the latter, but he’s been wrong about these sorts of things before. The fuzzy handcuffs are a bit of a surprise until he realizes that they’re probably his and not Hermann’s. That seems like something he would absolutely own.

He finds a small bottle of lube next and a first aid kit. The first aid kit is a bit odd, but it seems typical of Hermann to always be prepared for a Newt shaped disaster in his life. There's really only three Band-Aids and some ointment in the kit, which seems to suit the slipshod life they've been living.

Laying on top there's a plain black photo frame, face down as though it's too painful to look at the actual image. The picture is likely a selfie, Newt's giving Hermann an exaggerated kiss to his cheek and Hermann looks like he's laughing. He looks happier than Newt can imagine him being and the way the lines around his eyes wrinkle is probably the most charming thing he's ever seen. It seems like a great privilege to be someone who causes this smile.

He gingerly lays the frame back down and his finger grazes against something velvet feeling. It's a small box, he notes, his heart hammering in his chest. Opening it would be inappropriate, invasive. He does it anyway.

Inside the box is a silver ring.


	3. Chapter 3

Tendo’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees Newt as his door. Newt had to ask around to find where he was, since it was still within normal working hours and he was nowhere to be found. Apparently Tendo was the sort who could and would make his own hours, lucky bastard. Not that Newt ever had to stay within the confines of conventional hours, to the best of his knowledge.

“Can I help you, Newt?” he asks, gesturing for Newt to step inside.

Newt trods in, would have trodded in anyway, even uninvited. When the door is closed behind them both he shoves the ring box at Tendo, as though this will solve a problem.

“Well, it’s a bit sudden,” Tendo says, “and I do have a very serious girlfriend, though I’m very flattered…”

“I found this with Hermann’s things,” Newt states. “Did you know about this?”

“Brother, Hermann wouldn’t have likely told anyone if he was planning to propose and you don’t know me very well, but I’m a shameless gossip.”

“I’ve ruined his life, Tendo. What if we were already engaged? What if he was going to ask very soon? He told me that there was no one else for him and I…”

“Now, that part may be a tad melodramatic. And you didn’t personally ruin his life. His accident did-” They both wince, this is probably not the best phrasing. “But the key to something being an accident is that it’s not your fault.”

Newt settles on Tendo’s bed without permission, gripping onto the mattress. He’s afraid, but he honestly can’t say of what.

“What should I do?”

“Put it back and then if you remember your relationship you have a funny story to tell.” Tendo sits down beside him. “Do you honestly think him knowing that you know will make him feel better? Or you for that matter?”

“I don’t think the memories are coming back, Tendo. I’ve had this incredible-” Newt stops, wiping at his eyes. “I had this incredible relationship and I can never get back to that. I can’t make myself love him again, I don’t even like him half the time. But I used to love him so much, I see that now. I’ve heard that. I just don’t understand how.”

“It’s only been a few days.”

Tendo rubs his back soothingly, which only makes it worse. His head falls into his hands and he releases a sob, he can’t quite manage tears at the moment, but the sentiment is still there. He feels like he’s been hollowed out completely, like he’s had no choice in the matter and so many parts of him are just gone. Because that’s exactly what’s happened.

“You’re not obligated to love anyone,” Tendo says at length. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you liked him half the time when you started dating him either. You and Hermann didn’t magically start liking each other and not shouting at each other. In fact, you two still shout at each other all the time, it’s just usually only about work stuff or normal relationship stuff.”

“Are you telling me I just gotta hang around and hope I manage to fall in love with him again?”

“Well, no.” Tendo sighs. “If you’re so opposed to the idea of being with him, then don’t. But I don’t think you’d be so conflicted if you were opposed. I mean, you swore to hate the guy but still shared a bed with him. I think deep down you’ve always been a little bit in love with him.”

“He’s got a really nice body,” Newt remarks, as though that explains anything.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever given him a proper look, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“And he’s sort of...charming in his weird repressed way.”

“You also shouldn’t try to talk yourself into being in love with him,” Tendo says, squeezing Newt’s shoulder. “If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t...he’s a grown-up. You’ll both move on.”

“But I’m not a grown-up?” Newt turns to him with a grin. He feels better despite his miniature meltdown.

Tendo laughs and puts his arm around Newt. The feeling of something like home is just as important as any specific memory.

 

The break Newt took ends up consuming most of his afternoon. He doesn’t return to the lab until nearly dinner time and is greeted by a scowling Hermann. That seems much more in keeping with the man who insulted him that Newt remembers than any other version of Hermann he’s seen as of late.

“You do realize that you are being paid to be in the lab,” Hermann remarks, but he can’t truly look intimidating with chalk dust on his trousers. “And you said you’d be gone for only an hour.”

“It’s fine, I’ll finish the rest of my listening tonight. I needed a break.” Newt slides into his chair, deliberately not turning back to look at Hermann where he stands by the chalkboard.

“We’re approximately three weeks from the next attack, we don’t have time to take breaks. You need to learn what you need to know.”

The truth comes out rather coolly, bluntly. Hermann could easily have said this in anger, but he states at is neutrally as Newt suspects is possible. Likely Hermann’s been trying not to cause him additional stress but Newt suspects that Hermann also takes his work exceptionally seriously and expects the same from his lab partner.

“Like I said, dude. I’ll finish them up tonight. Believe it or not I might not remember most of the past five years but I still am pretty invested in the world not ending.”

“Let’s have dinner, then.”

Hermann brushes the chalk dust off of his trousers, much to Newt’s dismay, and waits for Newt to stand before they leave together for the Mess Hall. It’s oddly nice to have a person, someone to always be paired with, even if Newt’s not sure he likes Hermann or wants to be paired off with him forever. He’s not lonely in the way he’s become so used to in his adult life until this point.

Tonight at dinner, no one sits with them. There’s a group at the other end of the table but they’re busy talking about rugby or some sport that Newt does not understand. If they’d decided to talk about American football, he might be able to manage a decade old opinion designed to make someone or other angry. (The gift and curse of living in Boston for so long.)

“What do we normally talk about? At dinner?” Newt asks with a mouthful of food.

“We bicker,” Hermann answers, scowling at him. “Or discuss our work. Sometimes you try to engage me about pop culture or I’ll try to engage you about something we’re both reading.”

The word engage sinks right down to the pit of Newt’s stomach, but he recovers quickly.

“So we’re not one of those couples who argues over who is cuter?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Newton. It’s clearly me.”

Of all the answers Newt could have expected to come out of Hermann’s mouth, that was not towards the top of his list. He huffs out a laugh and claps Hermann on the shoulder.

“I wasn’t aware you were capable of being funny,” Newt observes. “And I don’t think that’s the point you would have been arguing at the time.”

Is Newt flirting? Is he allowed to flirt? Does he want to flirt? He’s a naturally flirty guy, he sees someone attractive and presumably single and the firtation starts. Except Hermann’s not really single. And he’s...complicated. And also the reason Hermann is not really single, because he even said on the phone that Newt is still his lover. That’s the actual word he used, too. They’re  _ lovers _ and everyone sitting in the room with them knows it, except for maybe Newt himself.

“We’ve never had a fight like that, I can assure you.”

“Yeah, because we both clearly agreed it was you,” Newt quips and that is definitely flirting. That’s probably unfair, but he can’t help it.

“Why don’t you finish your dinner and we can find something more appropriate to argue about?” Hermann angles his body slightly away. Newt’s not sure if it’s because the flirting is unwelcome or because it’s a little bit too welcome.

“What do you classify as appropriate to argue about?”

“Anything but that.”

That’s a good enough answer for Newt.

 

_ “Newton, can you stop recording, it’s time to go to bed,” the voice says. It’s distant and tinny but Newt can almost fill in the blanks. Almost remember. Hermann’s in his dressing gown in the middle of the night, he knows this means he’s very serious because Hermann doesn’t wander the halls in his comfortable clothing. _

_ “I’m almost done, babe. Just need five more minutes.” _

_ “I’m taking you to bed and that’s final.” _

_ “Kinky.” He remembers the way his mouth twisted so wickedly, and Hermann’s disapproving stare that softens by the moment. _

_ “You’re a little gremlin of a man, I hope you know this.” _

_ “Yeah, but you love me.” _

_ “For it and not in spi-” _

The earbuds are yanked from his ears and in the next moment it’s like the clarity of the memory drops back into relative oblivion. He opens his eyes to catch sight of Hermann, looking rather distraught and perhaps angry. This expression seems wholly new to him.

“Is something wrong, dude?” Newt asks, sliding his chair a bit away from Hermann.

“I told you that you are not to go through my things. I don't know what about that concept was so difficult to understand.”

“Uhhh.” Newt doesn't have a defense, what he does have is an engagement ring shoved in his front pocket.

“Return it,” Hermann asks, holding out the hand that does not currently have a white knuckled grip on his cane.

“I'm sorry.” Newt digs in his pocket for the box, pressing it into Hermann's hand. “I kinda freaked out when I saw it.”

“You shouldn't have seen it in the first place!”

“You kept going through the drawer and I was curious, alright?” Newt holds his hands up in surrender.

“I requested you to leave two things of mine private. In my whole life, these are the only things I’ve asked for you to keep private.”

“Yeah, because you’re Mister Dramatic with his face down picture,” Newt snaps. “Which, by the way, is not helping me remember shit.”

Hermann takes a firm step back, eyes Newt up and down. For a moment Newt thinks that maybe he’s gotten through to him, but then he snaps open the box, looking at the ring so tenderly. It’s snapped shut just as abruptly.

“I have to take precautions for my own heart.”

“That’s bullshit, Hermann. You’re already moping around and fucking crying all the time, might as well just let yourself hurt all the way.”

“I am not crying all the time.”

“Listen. I’m sorry things got derailed for you, but this isn’t anything to hide. If I still- If I hadn’t lost my memory, I’m sure I would have said yes.”

“It’s not- It’s not-” Hermann stammers, and shoves the ring box in his pocket. “It’s not like that.”

“That’s not an engagement ring?”

“It’s yours,” Hermann admits, shoving his hand in the pocket, curling his fingers around the box protectively. “It was with your things.”

From the way Hermann immediately averts his eyes, Newt can only guess his face looks rather horrified at the implication. He was going to propose. Newt. Propose marriage to someone. To Hermann. The man he dislikes most in the world. Or thought he did.

“You can have it back,” Hermann continues, but it’s clear he’s not letting it go. “If you want it. You can sell it or return it, if you wish.”

“Nah, dude. Keep it. It was bought for you, clearly.” He feels his expression soften.

“I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.” Hermann thrusts out his hand with the box in it. “It was yours to keep as a...a cherished secret.”

Newt stands then, laying a hand on top of Hermann’s, slowly guiding it back towards his chest.

“You deserve to know how much you were loved and you deserve a reminder of it.” The threat of tears wells at Newt’s eyes and he lets them fall. 

Hermann works his jaw but it’s different from his usual tick, it’s like he’s trying to keep something from coming out. Like he’s trying to keep down a tidal wave of words or emotion or something that words cannot even properly express.  _ He’s so lonely,  _ Newt thinks,  _ he’s so lonely like this.  _ Newt shifts up on his toes and leans forward, pressing a kiss to Hermann’s cheek.

“Newton. Please.” 

The next two words seem obvious to him. Please love me. Tendo was right earlier, though, as bad as he feels about this situation, he can’t make himself love Hermann. He steps back and withdraws his hand.

“I’m trying to remember,” is what he says, because it’s the truth. “Not that I wasn’t trying before, but I wasn’t particularly receptive to the idea of...everything. But I’m starting to understand you better now.”

“This isn’t something that you can just magically regain five years down the line, you know. With each day that you don’t-”

“I kind of remember some things. How we became friends again, and sometimes I just...know things that I couldn’t know without experiencing them. It’s not impossible.”

Loving Hermann is not impossible.

 

Lately Newt’s been dwelling a lot on a concept he learned when he was still a teenager: most birds mate for life. Of course, this is an oversimplified and overly romantic idea. Birds probably don’t feel love the way that people do, and it’s a matter of convenience for a lot of species anyway. Though, for much of the existence of the human race, marriage has been done for convenience as well. It’s convenient to have a person to help with your taxes or carry your heavy groceries or to fuck on a regular basis. 

Still, there’s some weird function of the human brain that finds the concept of mating for life romantic. Conceptually, there’s soulmates. Marriage. The tragic stories of people who are never happy once their partner is gone. Newt has no doubt that Hermann will find happiness again and he has no doubt that in time Hermann will stop prioritizing his romantic happiness over other sorts. Hermann will be fine. 

But now Newt’s starting to wonder how he himself will cope with this great unknown hanging over his head. Will he be able to move past it or will he spend the rest of his life in fear of the fact that he could be missing out? If this were some slapstick comedy, he’d probably set himself up in the lab trying to hit his head repeatedly to reset his memories. Maybe after the third or fourth try they’d settle back in.

If this were a romantic movie, he’d take Hermann’s sharp face in his hands and kiss him and hope the kiss would trigger an overflow of memories. The tiniest touch of Hermann’s mouth on his would send everything tumbling back all at once. At best Newt thinks he’d probably enjoy kissing Hermann, at worst it would just give Hermann false hope. Maybe a kiss would unlodge a memory or two, but it wouldn’t be a tidal wave, just impressions.

So he thinks about swans and how they’ve become a symbol of romance and how Hermann shifts from looking stoic to looking sad with very few emotions in-between. In a big metaphorical way he supposes this means that he’s comparing Hermann to a swan, which seems oddly fitting. Hermann is the type of man who looks like he’s far more graceful than he actually is. And that’s not a jab at his cane, because the man can get around better than anyone else Newt knows. That’s a commentary on the undercurrent of nervous energy that runs through Hermann even though he’s trying to be still.

Newt feels a twin undercurrent in his own movements, in his own life, but he’s always embraced it fully. Maybe it’s this feeling, this unbridled nervous thing that drew him to Hermann in the first place, even through their letters. Or maybe he’s just trying to find a deeper reason for being just a little bit attracted to him that doesn’t stem to “I pity him a bit” or “I just think I’m connected to him.” Because any man deserves better reasons than that.

After the confrontation about the ring, Newt ends up sitting in the lab through the early hours of the morning. When he told Hermann that he was starting to remember things, Hermann gave him a disbelieving smile and excused himself. Now it’s nearly three in the morning and Newt’s thinking about swans. He can’t bring himself to go back to the recordings, he can’t eavesdrop into something else personal at this point in time, that truly doesn’t seem right. Instead he tries to read through some of his notes, kept tethered by pages where he sees only his own surprisingly neat handwriting. He refuses to dwell on the love letter or the tiny notes that dot the margins of some of his notes.

The thing about humans, Newt notes, that is drastically different from birds, is that they don’t mate just to raise families or for protection. They consciously choose to stay with someone for life just because they like that person. Stuffy, repressed Hermann likes Newt enough to write in  the margins of his notebook and to hoard a silver ring that symbolizes their shared experiences. Stuffy repressed Hermann likes Newt enough to share a bed with him and he likes him enough to have his heart broken by him.

But that's the thing Newt's made peace with. What he finds harder to understand is that Newt keeps the notes in the margins, or buys a ring for Hermann, and shares a bed with him and probably sleeps in his arms. Or maybe it’s the other way around, he’s not entirely sure. He wants to know, for the sake of objective curiosity and something else that twists in his gut.

When he checks his phone and he notes that it’s almost three thirty and the battery is almost dead he knows he has to go back to the room. Technically, he shouldn’t be in the lab unsupervised at all, and he’s surprised Hermann is lenient about this. He’s grateful for it too, though.

He uses the light from his draining phone to change into his night clothes. It’s a dim light but he manages well enough to probably get his shirt on facing the right way and to grab pajama bottoms that are definitely not Hermann’s. This counts as a success. He freezes for a moment when Hermann sits up in the bed, props himself up and Newt’s glad he can’t really see him in the darkness.

“Newton, darling,” Hermann mumbles, clearly more asleep than awake. “Please come to bed. It’s very late.”

“In a moment,” Newt answers as he searches for his phone charger. Hermann seems content enough with that answer as he lays back down properly. There’s really no reason to give Hermann a reminder that this Newt is not really his Newt. He’ll know when he wakes up in the morning, anyway.

Holding out a hand, he gropes his way to and into the bed. Hermann’s hand is once again encroaching on his side, further proof they likely sleep more or less on top of each other. It makes sense for what Newt knows of himself with past partners and while it’s surprising about Hermann, he’s learning that maybe he shouldn’t assume anything about what Hermann is or isn’t like in the context of this relationship.

He needs to ask Hermann about their relationship, but he’s worried that he won’t share. Hermann is afraid of revealing intimate details of his life and heart to a near stranger, but Newt feels that he and Hermann have always understood each other deeply. Even if they’re not in love, even if he doesn’t believe in the concept, in some context they’re soulmates. Rather than move Hermann’s hand, Newt takes it in his own and rests it on his chest. Likely it won’t be there in the morning, but there’s an odd comfort in the gesture. He hopes Hermann feels it too.

 

When Newt wakes up, it’s nearly noon. His stomach is gurgling and he’s a bit disoriented. The other side of the bed is already cold, with the throw blanket neatly folded on top of the bed. For a moment, he’s worried that he’s missing work, but then he remembers that it’s a Saturday (the most important thing a man can remember) and breathes a sigh of relief. He sits up, noticing Hermann sitting on their ugly loveseat with a book and a cup of tea.

“The kettle’s’ still warm,” Hermann comments, gesturing to the electric kettle sitting on their desk.

“Do I drink tea now?” Newt asks, stretching his arms.

“No, your disgusting instant coffee is sitting on the desk, along with your French vanilla creamer and the excessive amount of sugar you heap into your drink.”

“Is this like a Saturday morning thing?” Newt swings his legs over the edge of the bed, testing how cold the floor is. He wonders if he sleeps with socks usually, because he can’t stand the concrete floors.

“Saturday is culturally my day of rest. While I do not observe, I do like to stay in and enjoy a domestic morning. I thought you wouldn’t mind sharing in that.”

“You’re Jewish,” Newt states, as though it’s the most shocking thing in the world. “You never said in your letters.”

“It was never relevant to our conversations. As I said, I don’t observe most holidays at this point in time but I-”

“I’m Jewish too. Kinda. My mom is and Dad’s always tried to tie in holidays and stuff because he said it goes through the mother’s side, but he really only ever manages Chanukah and that gets overshadowed by the Geiszler ugly Christmas sweater-”

Newt stops himself. He’s been with Hermann for several years, of course Hermann knows that Newt’s mother is Jewish.

“Last year’s sweater had a cat that sang on it, do you want to see a picture?” Hermann offers, picking his phone off of the arm of the loveseat.

Newt shuffles over, squints his eyes to look at the screen. It’s a picture of him with his arm around Tendo’s shoulder, wearing an offensively hideous sweater with a big orange cat face on it.

“That’s a very handsome look for me, Hermann. You must have been very proud to be dating such an attractive man.”

Hermann rolls his eyes. “You’re at your most annoying during the holidays. You carried this sprig of mistletoe around the lab with you and just- well, you know.”

“Oh, I definitely do know. That seems exactly like something I would do. Did it work?”

“With moderate success,” Hermann answers, turning back to his book.

Newt returns to the bed to put on his glasses and then makes his way to the desk to work on his coffee. He’s had coffee from the Mess Hall most mornings this week, but he’s sort of glad for the chance to have a morning in. The instant coffee can’t be any more garbage than the Mess Hall oil slop they’re passing off as quality coffee.

When he has his coffee, drinking it out of a mug that has cartoon sharks on it, he settles down on the love seat. He doesn’t care that this means Hermann has to shift fully to the side. It’s his couch as well.

“When did you come back to bed last night?” Hermann asks, but he doesn’t look up from his book.

“Probably around four by the time I got there.” Newt takes a sip of his coffee. It’s repulsively sweet, so it’s perfect. “You woke up for a moment, but you probably didn’t remember that.”

“I dreamed last night about you coming to bed. I think I conflated reality with my dreams,” Hermann admits. “You took my hand and it felt like you were home.”

“I-”

“I’m sorry, Newton. I shouldn’t talk to you like this. You’re right, I should consider seeing someone about this, should your memories not fully return. If I entertain any hope of you wanting to be with me, which I do have and I know that’s not fair but I can’t help it-”

“I did take your hand,” Newt states, shifting towards Hermann slightly. “I took your hand because it seemed like a better idea than pushing you away and I don’t regret it.” He places a hand on Hermann’s knee. “I’m sorry if I never get to remember what it was like being with you, I know I was very happy with you and I don’t know if I’ll be that happy with anyone again. You were the only one for the person I was, Hermann. It was a mutual thing and I think I’d have been really upset to learn that you didn’t think that.”

“I don’t know what I thought, I was just grateful for the time we had, Newton. I didn’t think it would end so abruptly. I’d assumed we would fight or grow bored of each other or something mundane, like other couples. And then I began to fear those things so very intensely because the world is ending around us and we had each other. Now I’ve got no one.”

“Hermann, dude.” Newt squeezes his knee. “My man. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you. I was being an asshole.”

“Your feelings were fully understandable.”

“They were.” He finds that he’s chewing on his lower lip. It’s really hard to articulate everything he’s feeling in that moment. “But I was mad at an outdated version of you, someone I had once cared about who hurt me deeply, and paid no regards to the fact that we had made amends.”

“I didn’t do much to remind you that we had made amends I-” Hermann closes his book and shifts towards Newt. “I acknowledge that I have been closed off, and we both know it was to protect myself and to protect a relationship I care very deeply about. But being open with you, as you are, is the only way to save that relationship and I understand that now.”

“When did you fall in love with me?” Newt asks abruptly. “Do you remember?”

“This is, I’m afraid, the part I don’t remember. When I think of you, I associate you with the love I feel at all times.”

“You were into me when we were writing.”

“We fought because I wanted to impress you and you made it impossible for me to do so,” Hermann explains. “And then parted ways. I thought that would have made it obvious.”

“I liked you when we were writing too.”

“I know. You told me all about the erotic letter dreams you used to have.”

“I think what’s really unfair here is you know all of my secrets and I’m missing several years of juicy information on you, Herms.”

Hermann’s too large mouth twists into a smile. There’s that hint of sadness playing in his eyes, but Newt can tell he means the smile. Something about the shape of his mouth makes sense in that moment and something about it makes Newt want to kiss him. He doesn’t.

“You’ll either have to remember or learn fresh, Newton. If I have to tease you into your memory, I will.”

Newt feels good about this, he feels like they can move on, no matter what happens. As much as he has the burning desire to remember, he’s made his peace with the idea that he possibly won’t.

 

That afternoon, Newt does choose to go into the lab to listen to more recordings. He resumes where the kissing had ended, listens to himself a bit breathless and very enamored talk about a noxious gas that emits from kaiju spleens. Hermann comes back in at the end of the audio, tells Newt that it’s time to eat dinner and then it ends.

The next recording is more professional and typical. He would have been fine listening through, no doubt, but he doesn’t regret discovering the ring, or the peace it’s given him now. He likes Hermann now, he can say that much. He wants to be his friend, and he’s not closed off to the possibility of more, should their chemistry bring them there. If he remembers, he’ll be the happiest man alive, he thinks. Thinking of how that will go, reconciling two versions of himself, is a bit daunting and very confusing, but he wants to remember something, even just the tiniest sliver to give to Hermann. And to himself.

He’s optimistic for the first time and today he tries to find a cigarette to celebrate. It truly is his lucky day, because one of the J-Tech officers gives in and offers him one. He steps outside to the spot he smoked with Tendo and hears a familiar, rather sharp voice. Stilling in his tracks, he takes a step back, hiding from view.

“It feels like he’s died,” Hermann says solemnly. “I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he died and I can’t mourn him because he could come back, or because his body’s still there staring at me.”

This doesn’t seem so different from something Hermann’s said to him after their dinner date, but it seems heavier now.

“Brother, I know the odds get weaker each day but there’s still time,” Tendo answers. Of course Tendo’s an equal opportunist smoker. Hermann and Tendo are standing comfortably close together.

Hermann lifts his cigarette to his lips, takes a long drag and pulls it away, looking annoyed and dismayed.

“There’s a ring,” Hermann begins and Newt finds himself cringing. Tendo may have told everyone.

“A ring?”

“He bought it. Before-”

“Oh. Oh! It was Newt that was going to propose, not-” Tendo sighs. “Yes, I know he found the ring. No, I’m not going to tell other people. Relax.”

“I had been considering the possibility. At least a promise for after the war, or before the world ends if they dissolve the PPDC. But that was a different theoretical, because I didn’t know if Newton would have said yes for certain.”

“But you know that you would have said yes.”

“I absolutely would have.” Hermann takes another drag. “And I’ve had that taken from me. Even if I can rebuild my relationship with Newton, I will always have these memories that I have to- it’s not the same version of him.”

“There’s support groups for this sort of thing, you know. I’m sure someone would be able to direct you-”

“I don’t need a bloody support group! I need my life back!”

“Alright, alright.” Tendo holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

“I’m so very tired, Tendo,” Hermann says, and Newt watches as he all but slumps against the wall. “I miss being able to touch him, I miss talking to him about the experiences we’ve shared, I miss- don’t look at me like that- I miss knowing I have a future. Even if that future is just one person.”

Tendo steps closer, places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Brother.”

“I woke in the night last night and thought it was still  _ him  _ and he came to bed and held my hand and just that action alone was enough to break me. What if he decides to give me a chance and then realizes he’s making a mistake? What if that’s the last time we do anything like that again?”

Newt turns on his heel then. He hasn’t considered this, he hasn’t considered what damage starting a new relationship with Hermann could do. Of course relationships end, they end in all sorts of ways, but to lose and then regain and then lose again seems unnecessarily cruel. But is it worse than to lose without regaining? He can’t say for sure.


	4. Chapter 4

Physics has never been Newt’s forte. In fact, physics as a concept has always been more Hermann’s territory. Still, Newt’s a smart man and he understands the basics of most branches of science. It’s easy to pick that up after six PhDs in scientific fields and when trying to impress a mathematical physicist over letter.

The first law of thermodynamics, in the trying times, has been a comfort to him. He’s simplified it, adhered to the simplified definition of the law. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed. Nothing can be truly created or destroyed. Creation has not been Newt’s focus for some time, but destruction. The lack of destruction in his life is a comfort, nothing can really be destroyed. Everything comes back in its own time.

 

It’s Saturday night when more of the memories come back. That’s not to say that he remembers everything, in fact he only remembers a few key things. He’s sitting up in bed on his tablet and Hermann’s playing solitaire on his little tray table. Tonight he’s as distracted by the sound of the cards hitting against the table, the same as he had before, but it’s different now. The sound knocks something loose.

_ “Hermann,” memory Newt whines. “Let’s go to bed, the cards will be waiting in the morning.” _

_ Hermann turns to him, leveling him a glance over his glasses. “That’s unlike you to be so eager to go to sleep, Newton.” He pointedly smacks the card against the table as he flips it. _

_ “I didn’t say anything about sleeping, dude.” _

_ “I’m well aware of what you have in mind.” _

_ “And?” _

_ “Just let me finish this game and I’m all yours.” _

_ He drapes himself over Hermann, nuzzling a cheek against his neck as he plays solitaire. Hermann remains firm and doesn’t turn towards him until he’s done, and then he kisses him and it’s such a sweet kiss. _

“Newton?” Hermann asks and it’s jarring. “Are you alright? You were staring rather intently at a screen that’s gone dark.”

“Fine, fine. Just lost in my thoughts.” Should he tell him? Should he just go ahead and kiss him? Maybe that would get the message across loud and clear. No, he doesn’t feel any differently so he’ll wait. If all of his memories don’t return, he can give Hermann the comfort, the gift, of telling him that some have, but he doesn’t want to share until he can give all of himself.

“I loathe to ask this, but what are you thinking about?”

The truth would sound teasing, like he’s mocking the person he used to be and the person sitting beside him in the bed.

“Desserts,” Newt answers, turning to him with a smile. “I don’t think I ate enough at dinner tonight. Do we do this normally- sit so quietly at night?”

Hermann pushes his glasses up his face with his pointer finger. “I very rarely get to finish so many games in a night, I can assure you. You are a flurry of chatter and small disasters and...other activities that adults may get up to in a bed.”

“I do know that we’ve had sex, Hermann. I don’t have to remember it to know that, trust me.”

There’s a blush spread across Hermann’s face to the tips of his ears. Newt feels a strange urge to bury his face in the crook of his neck, to kiss and bite his skin and tell him- He has to stop himself, because it won’t do to sit there and become aroused. It doesn’t stop the wondering if this is something he frequently does to Hermann.

“There’s no need to be crass, Newton.”

“You’re the one who brought it up, honestly.”

“And you’re the one who turned it lewd.”

The expression on Hermann’s face is rather petulant, almost pouty. His mouth looks like it’s stretched across his face against his will, like he’d far rather be smiling. Newt thinks of the photo Hermann’s got shoved in his drawer and something blossoms in his chest. He’s not sure if this moment is a victory or a defeat, because he understands precisely why and how much he loves Hermann then. Loved Hermann. Will love Hermann.

 

Sundays are apparently working days to Hermann the same as any other. From Newt’s understanding, most everyone in the Shatterdome works on weekends when they can, but from his understanding they’re not getting paid for working on these weekends. He doesn’t mind, he never expected to be making a generous paycheck and for his part, he’s got only a few more hours of experiments to listen to.

Hermann’s spent most of the morning at the boards, scribbling away at some equation that he claims is very important. Newt watches him at intervals, admiring his quick writing and his charmingly cute flat butt. (Does Hermann know Newt thinks this? Hopefully he’s always known this. Of course he does, it was Newt’s tablet password. Newt probably talks about his butt all the damn time, because that’s who he is as a lover.) When Newt’s not watching, he’s listening closely and following in his notes.

When Hermann asks him to come to lunch he waves him off, tells him that he’s only got half an hour left and then he’ll grab something quick. Inevitably, Newt will forget to eat but his answer satisfies Hermann enough that he leaves. The final experiment, Newt realizes, is the one where he fell and hurt himself. He was recording as the incident happened because of course he was. New Newt is going to have much better lab safety protocols.

_ “Dude this is gonna be-”  _ recording Newt begins, excitedly,  _ “the coolest shit. Top ten experiments of my career honestly. Gonna make some solid moves on my clone theory and then I’m gonna- Hermann I apologize if you’re listening but this is an important part of the fantasy of the moment- I’m gonna have earth shatteringly good sex to celebrate.” Newt remembers this acutely well, he had it all planned out. He would finish his experiment that day, then take Hermann out to celebrate his discoveries. _

_ “Listen babe, if you are listening and I ruin this for you, I apologize.” Newt laughs, like he’s telling a funny joke that he knows no one else will laugh at. “Also I apologize for calling you babe on a recording. Anyway, I’m recording this for posterity’s sake but I want you to know that after I solve this and help save the world, I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.” A pause. “Assuming you say yes and don’t throw the ring at me. Please don’t throw the ring at me. We get paid shit and I went over that two months’ salary thing for sure.” _

_ “God I just want to- you’re gonna make fun of this really, hold on-” Newt adjusts something at his workstation, clearly doesn’t see the bit of viscera that lands on the floor because really he is careful with his samples. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know you’re a big romantic sap, so don’t even pretend you don’t feel the same, honey. Plus, I’m the best you’ve ever had, at least sexually. Can’t always be perfect.” There’s that self satisfied chuckle again, the echo around the lab as he laughs at his own joke. “When you get back to the lab you’ll yell at me for talking to myself, I know.” _

_ “But listen, it’s gonna be great, all of it because I love you and-” _

_ That’s when it happens. He’s moving to the other side of the workstation and he loses his footing, slipping and falling hard. There’s a yelp of pain on the recording and then it’s blank until he hears footsteps and the familiar sound of Hermann’s cane on the floor. Of course Hermann found him. _

Newt tears out his headphones then and wipes the dampness from his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s been crying, but he’s used to it. It’s happened a few times over the past several days. It doesn’t come to him like a fairy tale answer, a true love’s kiss, but he feels the feeling he’s been skirting around swell in his chest deeper than it has since his injury. He remembers how it feels to love Hermann. No, it’s more than that. He knows now that he loves him.

His head feels suddenly overwhelmed and too big, it’s not as though all the memories are forcibly shoved into his head at once, but the capacity to recall five years of his life is immense. He knows, he feels, that some memories will be lost, but that happens anyway. He’s not meant to remember every moment of his life, a life is the sum of its parts and as such as greater than the sum of its parts and- why’s Hermann not here right now?

When he dashes out of the room, the sound of Hermann calling his name is coming through the headphones, tinny and anxious.  _ I’m coming,  _ he thinks.  _ I’m coming home.  _

It’s a mad dash through the ‘dome to find Hermann, who has apparently left the Mess Hall. He has to refrain from telling Tendo when he passes him by because it’s important that Hermann knows this first, before anyone else can even suspect. When he finds Hermann, he’s in the middle of talking to Pentecost about something that seems official, but he immediately turns to Newt.

“Newton, are you alright?” Hermann asks, his voice tinted with concern.

“I’ve gotta-” Newt pants, out of breath. “I’ve gotta tell you something. Now.”

Hermann looks up to the Marshall who thankfully excuses him and Newt’s all but dragging him away a moment later. It doesn’t matter where this happens, so long as they’re alone. They’re not properly alone, but they’re in a remote enough corridor no one is likely to walk in on the moment.

“I do hope this is important. I was having a pivotal conversat-” Hermann begins but Newt doesn’t give him time to finish.

“I’m remembering things. I mean, I have been for a few days but it’s different now it’s like they’re all clicking into place now. Like I’m me again.”

Newt looks up at Hermann for only a few moments, anxious for an answer, but the only answer he’s given is Hermann kissing him. That seems like the best answer of all. Newt wraps his arms around him and pulls him in close. Hermann always kisses like his life depends on it and now it’s only heightened, like he’s afraid of Newt slipping out of his fingers again. When they do pull away, they both stay in each other’s arms.

“I missed you,” Hermann says, pressing his face against Newt’s neck. “I know you were right there, but I missed you to an unbearable degree.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Newt rubs a hand on Hermann’s back, especially when he feels the wetness of tears against his skin. “I’m back, I’ll always come back, babe.”

“You hated me.”

“Not the whole time,” Newt corrects. “I was actually really into you by the end of the ordeal. LIke I wasn’t admitting it to myself but-”

“Be serious, Newton.”

“I am!” Newt pulls away from him. “Our shared experiences coupled with our physical chemistry make it really hard for me to not be at least a little bit into you in all contexts. Speaking of our physical chemistry…”

He pulls away, only to reach for Hermann’s hand and try to drag him back to their rooms. There’s nothing he wants to do more in that moment then make sure he remembers Hermann’s body perfectly.

“You need to go to see the doctor first,” Hermann chides. “We have time for that later.”

“We have time for the doctor later, as well.”

“Newton, I’m not taking you to bed until a doctor examines you.” Hermann shoots him a very stern look.

Newt knows full well, remembers full well, that this look means that Hermann will not take no for an answer.

 

Of course, once word gets out that Newt is remembering things again, everyone thinks they’re suddenly his best friend and stops by. That’s probably unkind, because he is glad to reconnect with some of the people he has friendly relationships with, but he mostly has one relationship that he knows he needs to repair. They don’t end up leaving the infirmary until dinner hours, when Hermann insists they actually eat food, as Newt had completed bypassed lunch. His desire to protest is quelled by the way his stomach gurgles uneasily.

Now, though, they’re lying contentedly in bed. Upon returning to their room, Hermann had immediately cast aside most of the offensive pillows from their manmade barrier and Newt had put his energy into getting both of them as naked as possible. The initial intensity of rediscovery has since cooled into something simmering, Newt has kissed and held and been fucked by Hermann again and he feels like he’s re-consummated his love. They’re tangled in each other, lying on their sides as they talk and look at each other.

“It really is you, right?” Hermann asks softly, and the hint of doubt in his voice is heartbreaking.

“It’s been me the whole time, but it’s me with the memories, yes.” Newt smiles at him. “Nice of you to ask that after you’ve had sex with me and not before.”

Hermann playfully swats his arm. “You just said it’s been you the whole time.”

Newt smirks and leans in to kiss him, resting a hand on his hip as he does. He loves how smooth Hermann’s skin is and yet how he can feel every knobby bit of him.

“Mhm, gimme like five minutes and you can have sex with all of me again,” Newt states, then presses a kiss to the tip of Hermann’s nose.

“I suppose I could manage another round,” Hermann counters, sounding dramatically put upon. It’s been about an hour since they fucked and Newt knows full well that while they’re not young men anymore, an hour is plenty of time for both of them.

“I’ll do all the work this time, babe.” He gently pushes Hermann onto his back before he climbs over him, straddling him. “All you’ll have to do is lay back and look pretty.”

“Isn’t that what you did last time?”

Newt glares down at Hermann, but starts to kiss along his neck, up to a spot he knows is particularly delicate behind Hermann’s ear. This earns a very wonderful gasp and Newt can feel Hermann’s cock hardening underneath him. He rocks his hips down against Hermann, just to help along the process.

“Could just slip right back in, honey,” Newt says sweetly before he sucks Hermann’s earlobe gently. “Is that what you want?”

“I’d prefer if you had just a little bit of help with preparation there, but that’s approximately the idea, yes.”

Lifting himself up slightly, Newt fumbles for the lube that’s sitting on Hermann’s nightstand. He squirts some onto his own fingers and reaches behind himself, pushing two into his hole without much ceremony. They don’t often do this twice in a night, but it’s happened enough that Newt knows he won’t need as much preparation this time around. Hermann’s taken the liberty of using the lube on himself, stroking his cock to full hardness as he does.

Content that he’s ready, Newt moves forward and carefully sinks down on Hermann’s cock. This is perhaps Newt’s favorite position, both as a showoff and someone who likes to take care of his partner. Hermann’s hands immediately find their way to his ass, giving a playful slap as Newt starts moving.

“Dude I-” Newt groans and cuts off his own sentence. “I know it’s only been like a week, but I really am glad to have your dick back in my life.”

“You didn’t even know you were going without, Newton.”

“Just take the compliment, buddy.”

“Can you not call me that when I’m inside of you?” Hermann starts to guide his movements. Bossy in the best way. 

“Can I use Hermann level pet names, then?” Newt teases, bracing himself against Hermann’s chest as he starts to pick up the pace. He takes the liberty of teasing Hermann’s nipples as he does.

“I don’t-  _ fuck _ , Newton- I don’t know what  you’re referring to.”

“Darling, dearest, I think there was a beloved one time, wasn’t there?”

“There was.” Hermann’s smile then is all too good, a bit too pure for what they’re doing.

“Then sometimes you get very German on me, which I appreciate for what it is but-”

He’s cut off as Hermann thrusts up into him and he cries out. It becomes increasingly hard to focus after that, when he has to put all of his energy into moving and the feeling of being fucked into in earnest.

Words become especially hard when two of Hermann’s beautiful fingers slip to his lips. He teases his tongue out to lick, just twice before he takes them into his mouth to suck. Leave it to Hermann, that big pervert, to know exactly what Newt likes and turn romantic, life affirming sex into something rather raunchy.

Newt reaches down then to fist his cock and starts giving himself a few slow tugs. He doesn’t want to come yet, but he needs some relief. Hermann withdraws his fingers, saliva slick and Newt feels oddly bereft at the loss, but only moves his hips harder for it. The other hand, gripping onto Newt’s hip, is holding on almost hard enough to leave a bruise. Oh, he’s not going to last long like this for certain

The spit slick fingers prod against Newt’s entrance and he moans at the sensation of Hermann touching where they’re joined. It’s both physically and oddly emotionally stimulating, knowing they’re together in this way. One of the fingers slowly presses in alongside Hermann’s cock and Newt’s lost- he swears he sees stars as he comes with a shout.

It’s not instantaneous, but clenching around Hermann’s length does the trick and sends him spiraling over the edge moments after and it’s as though, for a few blissful moments there’s no one else in the universe but the two of them. When they’ve both come down, Newt climbs off of him gingerly, already moving off the bed with shaky legs to wash up. Hermann’s still laying in the bed, blissed out and wrung out, when he returns with a cloth to clean him up.

“I’ll be just a moment, then I’m gonna cuddle you all night long,” Newt says, once he’s done.

“Mhm,” Hermann hums, propping himself up on his elbows. “I know your libido, in another two hours you’ll be…”

“Oh, my bad Hermann, I’ll just stop trying to have sex with you as much as possible while we’re still fairly young.”

“Point taken.”

In the few moments that it takes Newt to rinse off their washcloth, Hermann’s managed to pull the blankets up to his waist and sit up in the bed. For a moment, Newt thinks he’s in for a big conversation that he doesn’t want to have, but then he notices the velvet box sitting on his spot in the bed.

“What’s this doing here?” Newt asks softly, slipping into the bed.

“I thought you might want it back now that you remember.”

“Well, the ultimate point is to give it to you, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But you can’t just give it, you have to ask.”

Hermann’s got that attractive blush across his face again and Newt’s lucky he’s already sitting down because otherwise he’d be weak in the knees. Admittedly, his plans for his proposal were based more in scientific triumph (not in compromised samples and no proof in his theory) but this seems fitting for who they are. The week they’ve had.

Rather than start with asking, Newt leans over and kisses him softly. He knows what the answer will be when he asks, and he at least has enough time to kiss him before he asks. He’s not going anywhere, Hermann’s not going anywhere. Everything will be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ pendragoff and twitter @ newtguzzler
> 
> Comments & kudos are <3
> 
> (Sorry it wasn't all Lars's fault, Sarah :()


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